


Overtures and Intentions

by elegantanagram (Lir)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confessions, Cybersex, Getting Together, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation on camera, Miscommunication, Or failure at cybering, Or mostly getting together after dancing around it forever, POV Third Person, Pesterlog, Webcamming, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:23:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lir/pseuds/elegantanagram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk has been subtly putting the moves on Jake for the longest time, has been attempting to communicate his attraction through every means save a straight-forward confession. Jake has been responding in kind, a frustrating dance to the rhythm of one step forward, two steps back. Sometimes, Dirk thinks he's going to get what he so badly wants. This time, late at night and unwilling to lose, Dirk refuses to settle for less than the whole package. Jake has much of the same idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overtures and Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is actually a concept I conceived of over a year ago, when I wrote [the original pesterlog](http://elegantanagram.tumblr.com/post/13376886587) the rest of the story is expanded from. 
> 
> As such, there's been some serious continuity finagling going on, to account for all the additional canon information that's since been revealed. Consider the story to be a derivation from canon, where Jake and Dirk have almost managed to communicate some degree of attraction towards each other before entering the game. 
> 
> Seriously just take my fic in which teenage boys are super awkward about their wants and their emotions and in which they utterly fail at communication. 
> 
> Some parts of the pesterlog I acknowledge to be clunky, and all I can offer is the knowledge that the entire log is a pastiche of Jake's original first conversation with Dirk's AR. It's hard following existing grammar, yo.

-

It is late and the illumination in Dirk's room is minimal, but he cannot be bothered to turn on a light. So is the nature of things when he's working on a project, spurred into picking up the pieces in the dark and continuing to work with nothing more than the glow of a screen to see by, because once Dirk gets going it's easy for him to lose himself. The computer is only being used in lieu of a light, but then it pings at Dirk, an incoming pesterchum message plain on the screen. 

GT: Dirk.  
GT: Erm.  
GT: Were you around?

Dirk reads the IMs as they appear on his screen, distractedly, looking between the work in his hands and Jake's messages. It's Jake, and Jake is his best bro, and it's true that he always does want to talk to Jake. But it's also very easy to ignore him instead, especially when there is no reason for Jake to expect he will receive an answer. 

GT: I want to be a gentleman with this but i think ive done a great disservice to you a couple times recently...

That is an understatement. At least, in Dirk's opinion, "disservice" is not an adequate word to convey the quality of their recent interactions. But it does distract him from the task previously at hand, and convince him that this may be a conversation worth having. 

TT: Divulge your problem, Jake.  
GT: I could begin this explanation with a gesture of sincerity.  
GT: About how much your forward and unrelenting affection gets to me.

So they are going to have one of _those_ conversations. Dirk knows he's made a lot of advances in Jake's direction, god fucking help him, and he also knows that so many of them seem to go over Jake's head, or simply become lost as they both get bogged down in details, obscuring what was even the point in the first place. Maybe lately Jake has seemed able to brush Dirk off completely, but it is strangely gratifying to hear that Jake has been ruffled at all. 

GT: It has even taken...  
GT: Utterly *everything* distracting an experienced adventurer like me from your advances.  
GT: Simply an all out effort thats a stretch beyond any before in difficulty and duration.  
GT: God... *fumbles for steady nerves.*  
GT: I wish this crap wasnt pouring out so haphazardly. I truly want to...  
TT: Let it go, Jake.

Dirk has to cut him off before his friend can type anything further. He doesn't want to hear how much of a fucking strain he places on Jake. It feels like shit, even though he also knows that he has been pushing harder out of sheer frustration, being even more persistent just so he will get a reaction worth mentioning. But it's worse because sometimes Jake seems so receptive, and it seems like he _means it on purpose_ instead of just being oblivious or being a good friend. 

TT: Just about the only way I could derive consent from this incoherent spill of verbal diarrhea would be to hear, pretty goddamn urgently mind you, it was a segue into elaborately explicit description about you considering dropping to your knees as lewdly as conceivable.  
TT: Yet because you've always avoided that scenario's immediacy with so many hasty retreats of frustrated defeat that were as endearing as they were utterly unsatisfying,  
TT: That allows just two means for this overture to stop thundering into existence as a prematurely fired bullet from the barrel of the .44 Magnum revolver that is your blindly babbling mouth.  
TT: And that eventuality hinges on the enthusiasm with which you were divulging actual intentions.  
TT: Now's my chance to hear that's why you were babbling on. I advise you mean it.

Once the words start coming, they just tumble out. It has never been especially hard for Dirk to talk that way, to coin metaphors and use creative turns of phrase, and for him that's natural. It's somewhat less natural to just let all his feelings bleed through, like the verbal diarrhea he is accusing Jake of, but every once in a while he hits a point past which his unruffled cool won't hold. Every once in a while he has to remind his friends that certain things are important to him. 

GT: You...  
GT: Okay. Yeah! Just that way.  
GT: My intentions!  
GT: Good grief when i was sharing them very soon! You trust me bro.  
GT: *Licks moisture from your clenched abdominal muscles.*  
GT: *SUGGESTIVELY!!!!!*

Dirk's breath draws in, sharply, the smattering of action text in messages from Jake being something he's used to, simply not in this context. There is something arresting about the abrupt transition from simply talking about this to _doing,_ even if it's still only an indication of what Jake _could_ be doing. 

GT: Like.  
GT: That.  
TT: Fuck, exactly.

The words seem to appear on the screen before Dirk thinks about typing them. He takes a moment to stare at his own fingers resting against the keys, a second that is coincidentally helpful in ensuring that he's still on his game here. If Jake is stepping up to the plate, well, Dirk can escalate as well. 

TT: Now that my tense anticipation has been piqued so unbelievably acutely in entirely the best manner, and appealingly so,  
TT: Let's get back to these hot as fuck wants you've unearthed.  
TT: I'm hoping you're completely willing to fuck sometime soon. Yes?  
GT: Whoa! Of course you could be so forward with a proposal.  
GT: I would need to be completely shameless to bend over immediately.

If Dirk curses, quietly, it is wholly involuntary. It's pessimistic as fuck, but maybe he's throwing all of his cards down as fast as he can so Jake can realize how much he thinks this is a bad idea – just like every other time – and they can put an end to the conversation without too much beleaguering. Dirk does not need a visual of Jake bending over, all connotative of eager willingness. He needs it even less in the context of a refusal. 

GT: No no im entirely ready for the furtive handjobs but really when you make a proposition like that huge jump youll ensure i am *wavering slightly* when it comes to almost every vulgar activity you might suggest.

Just as quickly, Dirk bites his tongue, his threshold for mixed messages threatening to buckle under the duress of too much information. Handjobs of any variety, least of all mutual, are another thing that Dirk does not need to be thinking about if Jake is going to back out. 

GT: But...  
GT: Your original request which you made abruptly for details was allowing a little freedom!  
GT: I remember what my best friend showed me concerning thoroughness. *Pulls at pants fastenings.*

Dirk's left hand drops to wrap around the buckle of his belt, sympathetically, like he was expecting to actually feel foreign fingers wrestling his fly undone. There are no fingers there but his own of course, and it is so tempting to simply pop the button, lower the zip, and proceed with the fiction. So Jake finally wants to have fucking cybersex handjobs. Dirk is cool with that shit. Except for the part where, now that it's happening, it feels like settling and settling is not a thing he knows how to do. 

TT: I am refraining from demands.  
TT: It's clearly exceedingly obvious that's not what you're wanting here.  
GT: Christ what an incredibly overbearing ass you are.  
GT: Ok will you please just give me a break already?? Im at almost my limit!

This could be something to regret. It may be smarter for Dirk to go with this, when Jake seems surprisingly comfortable. Dirk isn't sure if there's a good reason for him to keep pushing Jake's buttons, any more than he's sure if he knows how to stop. 

TT: You do understand my proposal still remains.  
GT: What?

He really doesn't know how to stop, and he's no longer sure that Jake has been taking his suggestions as jokes. Maybe Jake knew he was serious all along. 

TT: You know. I've volunteered to clean my rifle for you numerous times already. I would give an exceptionally riveting performance.  
GT: Oh i know you would its just...  
GT: Damn it man ive warned you this is not someplace i want to hurry myself.  
GT: Its this gesture you want from me and im trying to measure up against it even if im not the greatest or even second greatest bedmate youll have!

It's confirmation of all the pessimistic things Dirk thinks, that Jake is not so oblivious and that this is all just a bit of a mess. And yet it's capped off with that impossible, implicit offer, because getting one's rocks off across the internet is far and away from being someone's "bedmate." It's touching to hear the sentiment wrapped up in this belief that some day Dirk will be having all this great sex, in a way that kind of hurts when he's currently just a horny, stupid teenager who's kind of in love with his best friend. 

Dirk wants to like this. It's encouragement and it's more than he usually hopes for by a long ways, but something keeps eating at his insides and it's hard to let go. He thinks it might be that this is still so far from concrete. He isn't going to demand promises, but it remains surreal that, after such a long goddamn time, he might receive anything this much like reciprocation. 

TT: Yeah, I know this is your stance. You've made a huge statement and I should be satisfied.  
TT: But it's my prerogative as the douchebag to insist one more time.  
TT: Just like it's your decision not to just throw aside a dedication to convictions just because I approach you with an excess of vulnerability.  
GT: Frig!!!!!  
GT: What then???  
TT: I'm too vested.  
TT: And you yourself are the one becoming serious about this.  
TT: If you were second-guessing this scenario and gave countless wild excuses for it, I'd just say, fuck it, here's a bit of guilty conscious dude, I'll stop.

Once Dirk types it, he knows that it's true, he knows that he can't just back down and stop trying when it always seems like there's so much encouragement wrapped up in all the confusion. It might just be that they're supposed to be best fucking bros and that means Jake isn't going to be an asshole to him, but it also shouldn't be too hard to say "yeah, dude, cut that shit out." As clouded as Dirk's perception may be, he can't say Jake has ever taken him to task strongly enough to get him to back down.

He doesn't feel guilty and that's why he keeps pushing, bypassing Jake's clumsy attempts at cybersex in hopes of getting something more concrete. 

GT: Ok then! Im redressing it!  
GT: Look. See? Only a single plan for now! What is this daring idea you ask?  
GT: Why... it is hurrying to go webcamming. I wont pussy out!

Dirk supposes, within their unavoidable limitations, there are few things more concrete than getting in front of a camera and taking their cocks out. 

TT: Right. Not rushing things.  
TT: You think that any gesture of your sudden interest could be criticized by my abject cynicism, so there's no goddamned delaying it.  
TT: But I know perfectly well what exceptionally peerless prize could be won.

Dirk supposes, in a way, he is positively self-destructive. It's imbecilic to tell Jake, even in the context of an action-hero metaphor like the kind Dirk can't help making at him, that Dirk will stick it out because Dirk wants the whole thing. It's insane to do anything other than say "yes" because for fuck's sake, Dirk very much wants to. But it's impossible not to delay, because that isn't the only thing Dirk wants. 

GT: Jesus christmas I am not you fucking spoils.  
TT: It seems you think I am a fucking saint.  
TT: That's your mistake, you know. That's unfortunate.  
GT: I knew you were going to mention this. I cant understand how you resisted so long!  
GT: Strider why must you always make such a huge deal of those metaphors???  
TT: It seems that you expect me to be, no less than one hundred percent of the time, an unwavering paragon of moral virtue.

Usually Jake seems to enjoy the little jabs at his persona of being a man of action, a seeker of adventure. Dirk isn't quite expecting a negative response to what is only some of his usual bullshit, and there they are getting bogged down in semantics again. It's stupid. 

TT: I respectfully invite your revision of this opinion. Hey, let's get to polishing guns.

Much less stupid to get back to the startlingly real prospect of getting a little satisfaction. 

GT: Wait...  
GT: "Polishing guns"??  
TT: What?

Maybe Dirk shouldn't have used yet another guns-and-action related euphemism. 

GT: Oh for fucks sake.  
TT: Is that the problem, Jake?  
GT: Turn on your web cam.

To Dirk's endless relief, his abrupt, linguistically questionable turn does not seem to have put Jake off. While Dirk is getting his camera turned on, too excited and tied in knots to allow himself any more overthinking, he almost regrets all of his delaying. He prides himself on being well-spoken, and his rationalization-turned-negotiation with Jake just then was anything but. Dirk simply wants Jake to know that, yes, he's interested in cybering. He is down with the webcam-given performances. But that, ultimately, he wants all of Jake. He wants not to screw up any chance of their having a relationship simply because in a sad, desperate moment, separated by great distance, Dirk could only think with his dick. 

The camera feed boots up, a thumbnail appearing on Dirk's screen, previewing the video being broadcasted to Jake. Dirk can see himself leaning over the machine, hair a sweep of blonde spikes and glasses shallowly reflecting the computer screen's glow, his shirt bunching up with the motion. Then Jake's video stream pops up, and he quickly settles himself back into his chair.

It is not the first time Dirk has conducted a video conference with Jake. The other boy's tanned, smiling face is a stomach-fluttering familiarity, the sight of his square spectacles and messy shock of dark hair instantly summoning forth fondness. When Jake flashes his pearly whites, Dirk can almost count his every tooth.

"Strider," Jake says, the sound of his voice alone causing a flow of warmth to pool in Dirk's gut.

Dirk wants to reach through his computer screen, the picture so crisp it's heartbreaking how well it simulates reality. He wants to grasp Jake by the sides of his face, fingers tracing up the angles of his jaw, wants to bury his hands in Jake's hair and kiss him right on that smiling mouth. But the shimmering image before him disguises a barrier of many miles, and Dirk has to content himself with what they can manage.

"English," Dirk says back, so he can feel the corners of his mouth just starting to pull up. "Jake."

They've already said all the messy, tumultuous things surging up in their chests, have already let Dirk snap out all his worries and insecurities like a rubber band against his wrist, obfuscated as they might have been by his complicated phrasing. He can let it all recede, now that he's disgorged his thoughts in an outpouring of text.

"I seem to have acquired tickets to the gun show," Dirk says. "I want to redeem them."

Jake chuckles at him, saying, "Ever the charmer, Dirk."

But he leans back in front of the camera, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders. The fabric slides down Jake's arms, baring his biceps below where the sleeves of his t-shirt cut off. Jake's jacket falls free of his hands, landing outside the field of Dirk's view, and Jake pulls his hands up to shoot off finger guns in Dirk's direction. Dirk laughs, but as much as Jake is an irredeemable dork, Dirk can't help but find it charming. 

Nor can he help watching the shapes of Jake's muscles when he moves.

After letting down his hands there is a moment of hesitation, telegraphing the uncertainty that has been underlying all of Jake's communications when they tiptoe around the subject of "them." This time, Jake seems to shake himself, so that Dirk can visibly watch the shudder pass through him, like he's reminded himself that this is Dirk and this is chill and it's just another form of adventure. He's already putting on a silly-serious little show so he might as well go all the way. 

Jake grasps the hem of his t-shirt, pulls the fabric up over his head in a motion that is singular and fluid right up until he almost knocks his glasses into the cocoon of clothing enveloping his face, but Dirk doesn't care because it's Jake and it's genuine and it pulls Jake up from his seat, so that Dirk is gifted with a nice long eyeful of Jake's stomach muscles. Jake looks a little more awkward when he emerges, pink around the edges and grinning in a way that is both bashful and entreating, asking Dirk without words not to make too much of the gaffe, saying nothing because it's best to barrel on. He reaches out to adjust his camera, curling so Dirk's view includes Jake's face while going all the way down to the hem of Jake's pants. 

"Touch your stomach," Dirk directs, knowing that he's craned forward in his chair and eaten up with his eagerness. It isn't an overtly sexual request, Dirk just wants to see Jake take even one small action, simply because Dirk asked it of him. 

Jake laughs, but he drags his fingers over his belly obligingly, ruffling dark hair and passing down over his happy trail. He stops with his palm just over his crotch, grins at Dirk, dopey and perfect. 

"If I recall correctly," Dirk says, mouth a little dry with the expectation, "at some point earlier I promised you a fully documented demonstration of my polishing technique."

In part, Dirk only wants to reach for the fly of his pants, because his body seems intent on moving up their timeline whether Dirk consents to it deliberately or not. 

"So you did!" Jake agrees, and there's that eagerness that accompanies Jake in everything he does, that makes Dirk's stomach lurch and cock jump with fondness and longing. 

It's encouragement, and Dirk has no intention of letting that down. 

Dirk's fingers are steady, deliberate, when he pops the button on his jeans, draws the zipper down, eases up on his knees a little bit to make sure he's offering Jake the best view. It's not like this is the same as touching himself by his lonesome like the lonely boy he is. This is a performance, and when it comes down to it, Dirk refuses to give anything save for the best. He hooks his thumbs in his belt loops and yanks his jeans down as far as his knees, rendering it suddenly obvious he's half-hard in his obnoxiously orange boxer-briefs. 

He tilts his head at his camera, half so he can give Jake this crooked little grin, just as much because he wants to see Jake's face on the screen checking him out. And Jake is obviously tracing his gaze along the shape of Dirk's cock through his underwear, a state of affairs that simultaneously floods Dirk with relief and spikes his blood with arousal. He edges the waistband of his underwear down a fraction at a time, easing the material away from his cock until it bobs free from the confines, the full dramatic reveal. 

"I say, Strider," Jake murmurs. The microphone catches it, despite his low volume. 

Dirk can hear admiration in that voice, can hear the fondness and sense that Jake is impressed with the state of Dirk's erection. He curls his fingers around himself, a loose grip that follows his shaft from base to tip, tightening down as his hand moves until his fingers are twisting around the head of his cock in a tense, intimate grip. His lips part, and he breathes out on camera in appreciation of his own touch. 

From Jake's end, there is a strangled little wanting sound. 

Dirk gives himself another stroke, tighter this time, tilting his hips up into his hand. He keeps the motion slow but firm, building into a pace that is agonizingly unhurried. For a minute Dirk is ignoring the computer, aware of the camera tracking his motions even while he isn't looking at its lens, isn't looking at his screen. His hand tugs at his own flesh, rhythmically, upping the tempo just a measure at a time. 

When Dirk looks at his monitor again, the image of Jake is fumbling at the front of his pants, grinding his palm down against his groin in ruthless incoordination even as his eyes remain riveted on Dirk. While palming himself through his shorts, Jake's other hand is plucking at the edge of his fly, as if he's considering just ripping it open and whipping it out and going for this thing whole-hog. Dirk doesn't understand the indecision.

"Come on, Jake," he goads, voice rough around the edges, containing far more eager emotion than his usual. "You're going to get left behind."

Jake barks a laugh, one quick sound that immediately shades into quieter, more nervous chuckling. He forces himself to leave off touching himself through his clothing, abruptly snapping the button open and yanking down the zip, digging his dick out with a speed that speaks of utter discomfort at keeping his junk confined. Dirk's hand on his cock falters when he gets an eyeful of Jake's erection, flushed darker than Dirk's own, looking thicker even against the backdrop of Jake's broader fingers. He licks his lips quickly, reminding himself of the distance, of the fact that even if there's much he cannot have, no one is denying him the show. 

"That's better," Dirk says. His hand is already resuming its steady pace.

Jake's hand on himself is clumsier, enough so that Dirk briefly wonders if this is an ordinary thing for him. He concocts a scenario where Jake hardly jacks off, just leaves his dick at the mercy of nature's whims, but as fantasy jumping-off points go, he isn't buying it. Jake continues touching himself, and Dirk realizes the issue – Jake is trying to keep pace with the rhythm Dirk has already set, and he hasn't quite gotten the beat. 

Dirk's metronome is the sound of his own breathing, a shallow rasp loud enough that it has to be sending feedback across the microphone line. It's hardly evenly paced enough to serve the purpose, but he can hear it in his ears, can set his pace to the tune of his own desperate longing. He strokes himself quick and tight and with a slight twist to the motion every time his fingers travel over the head, eyes riveted on Jake's face on his screen, on Jake's dick being pumped with Jake's own wide, tanned hand. 

"How's that?" Jake asks. 

It's uneven and shuddery, even those few words requiring monumental, visible strain for Jake to get out with any degree of composure. It takes a moment for Dirk to process that Jake is blatantly seeking his approval. 

"Perfect," Dirk breathes out, too honest, too undeniably fervent. "Keep going, shit, that's great."

Dirk's dominant hand is still jerking himself off with stubborn persistence, but he lets the other creep down across his stomach, fingers dipping under the waistband of his underwear where it's pulled nearly out of the way. This is a show for Jake, yes, but it's a rare day when Dirk simply relies on his hand to get himself off, with no further embellishments. The hand in his underwear rubs against his balls, a light touch in counterpoint to the far more brutal manner with which he drags his hand along his shaft. It's almost entirely outside the view of the camera, but the motion of Dirk's arm should give Jake an idea of what he's doing. 

He wants to dip his hand lower, wants to sink on his own fingers as if they were Jake's heavy cock. But he doesn't want to find the lube and doesn't want to renegotiate their logistics, doesn't want to hold things up when they're already off at such a fine clip. Besides, if he only relies on the touch of his hands to bring himself to orgasm, maybe he'll last better. Maybe he'll get to draw out this delicious, agonizing process with Jake just long enough. 

Jake is still keeping pace with Dirk, his fist now descending along the length of his cock with steady regularity. Jake's mouth is permanently sagged open, his eyelids fluttering but refusing to descend, not when Dirk is on Jake's screen and when Jake is so desperate to watch him. Dirk reckons that Jake must be as eager for a show as Dirk is, and the thought sends another possessive thrill of pleasure sparking up Dirk's spine. Jake is louder than Dirk; for the past however many minutes, his audio has been nothing but Jake's lusty groans, his occasional whimper, his low whines between his teeth when their pace is almost too much. 

It's almost too much for Dirk, too.

He's still fondling himself, quick and efficient but that might not be enough. He watches the way Jake's hair sticks to his forehead, watches the almost concentrating expression Jake wears while he touches himself. He watches the smooth musculature of Jake's chest, watches the way the muscles in Jake's arms move as he jerks himself off. He wishes so badly he could touch Jake.

"Are you close yet?" he breathes across the distance.

Jake makes a sound in his throat, not quite a reply. 

"Can you feel yourself coming to the edge?" Dirk continues. "Does your dick ache from standing at the precipice, so close to blowing it, and tumbling over? So that all it would take is one last little push?"

Jake whines louder, rougher, palming himself faster. "Consign it Dirk, you know damn well how undone I have to be, I can't see the point of-!" His voice cuts out abruptly, a rapid transition from speaking to moaning, his hand on his dick faltering a moment. He catches his breath, continues, "of making me admit to being close to breaking."

Dirk hisses low in appreciation, all the more turned on by the hurried admission. Even without the pause, Jake's voice is uneven and wobbly, loud in the face of a sudden inability to moderate his volume. It's just as Jake says. He's struggling to hold it together, and Dirk can see it all the more clearly when Jake is forced to talk. 

"The point is that I like it," Dirk says. 

It's convicted, certain, an admission of Dirk's own that startles another needy whine from between Jake's lips. He wants the maximal experience he can get at a distance, wants technicolor images and a multitude of sounds and the utter certainty of Jake's voice breaking and failing under the duress of his arousal. 

"Don't hold back," Dirk says. "I want to see you come apart, Jake."

Jake's hand pumps faster, more desperately, as if his dick is to double as his lifeline in the face of Dirk's bare-faced confessions. 

"I want to see you come for me."

Jake's strokes no longer maintain their rhythm, falling to an uneven, jerky pace that remains quick for all its stumbling. Between Dirk's words, the audio is nothing save Jake's heavy panting, interspersed with little whines like he's struggling to comply. Dirk realizes he's breathing just as hard, that half the audio is him. 

When Jake comes, it's loud and messy. He jerks himself off with such force that he splatters his semen halfway up his chest, doing so with a wordless cry that telegraphs as nothing so much as victory and relief. There's elation there, too, and Jake's hand slows, stroking himself just a few last times before letting his spent cock slip from between his fingers. 

He's watching Dirk, though his expression looks glazed-over. Dirk is still hard and still going, but he's close now too, so goddamn painful close that the edge feels like a knife's blade and he's a tightrope walker, wandering out on that narrow line and only hoping that he falls. He bites into his lip, savagely, not liking the pain so much as needing the feeling, needing further sensations to push him past the home stretch. 

"Come on Dirk," he hears Jake murmur. "That's the ticket old chap."

It earns a little keening whine from Dirk's throat, a sound comprising so much gratitude and need, a sound that precludes Dirk's own hasty finish. He tugs himself to completion with stubborn attention, his free hand moving up to cup around the head of his cock. Dirk doesn't quit as quickly as Jake did, continuing to lightly stroke himself until he's utterly done, until the light touch passes the point of pleasant and verges on the painful, until he's pushed himself all the way to the point of overstimulation. 

Only then does Dirk reach for the nearby tissues, and only then does he clean himself up quickly and sag back in front of the camera. 

"I must say," Jake is saying, "when you promise a fellow a show, you don't fail to deliver."

Dirk smiles at him, drained but more elated than he will admit. 

"I can hardly imagine the source of your surprise," he drawls, in his contentment. "This is strider standard."

It's remarkably easy, resting sprawled in front of the camera with his softening dick lying against his belly. On Jake's end, the other boy is slumped sideways, looking equally debauched and equally disinterested in righting himself to normal. Dirk reckons he'd better get on that, loathe as he might be to ruin the moment.

"Thank you, Jake," Dirk says, with nothing save sincerity.

Jake blinks at him, until Dirk realizes Jake doesn't understand what he's being thanked for. Dirk doesn't want to quantify it beyond that. He cares about this foolish, silly, green-eyed boy to such an immense degree, and he'd impart some vocalization of fondness if that didn't feel like too much, too fast. But he's so goddamn grateful, so pleased that they've finally made it even to this point. A little thanks is more than he can resist giving.

"I couldn't have asked for better," he adds.

That, somehow, earns a laugh from Jake, and the half-desired, "You're very welcome, then, I'm far too happy to oblige!"

Past that, they simply chat like friends for another five minutes, and when Dirk disconnects the call, he finds that his assessment still holds true. After so many half-made overtures and so many expectations for failure, he couldn't have hoped for success beyond this remarkable reality. 

-

-


End file.
